Sweet, Sweet Surrender
by Wyvern Tattoo
Summary: He used to sneak into her room every night to kiss her while she was sleeping, giving her a glimpse of his secret feelings in her dreams. RYRO. Two-shot.
1. Part 1

_Title:_ Sweet, Sweet Surrender

_Summary:_ He used to sneak into her room every night to kiss her while she was sleeping, giving her a glimpse of his secret feelings in her dreams. (RYRO) (two-shot)

_A/N:_ Post X3. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but due to the length it has reached, I've decided to turn it into a two-shot instead. Now, I'm no newcomer to writing fanfiction, but please be aware that this is my first Ryro. You'll have to bear with me as I develop Pyro's character as how I perceive him to be throughout my fics. Funny story, when I first sold my soul to the Ryro fanfiction universe, I became rather obsessed with the movie verse Pyro...to the point where I was convinced that I was in love with Aaron Stanford, the actor who plays him in the movies. I've managed to dwindle down to a simple fan now, but I do admire both the actor and the character for bringing me one of the little joys in life: Ryros.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own X-Men.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

_Part 1_

The beating of his heart sounded thunderous to his own ears as his blue eyes, glinting in the moonlight that streamed through the nearby window, scanned her innocent sleeping form. It would be an understatement to say that she was beautiful in her sleep. She was much more than merely _beautiful_…

Her pale skin glowed in the same moonlight that lit his eyes, giving off a soft, ghostly look about her. Long brown hair fanned out over the pillow that cushioned her head, her trademark white streaks flowing over the darker shade. She was currently positioned on her back with her legs tangled up in the sheets, her arms loosely hugging her torso, and her face angled a little to the left, towards her pillow. Her attire–a less-than-modest dark violet nightgown–only served to increase his already rapid heartbeat. There was an expression of complete peace on her lovely face, and a small contented smile pulled the corners of her lips upward, suggesting the presence of a pleasant dream. Her chest rose and fell with her rhythmic breathing, and her eyelashes fluttered a bit as the dream continued.

What he was gazing intently at, however, were her lips. Rose red, soft, full…and kissable. They contrasted sharply with the paleness of her face, red complementing white. Yes, he knew them well. Very well.

He took a step forward, only to pause again as more of his courage dwindled away in the wake of her very presence. That annoyed him a little, and a scowl began to form on his face. Why the hell was he so nervous? It wasn't like this was the first time he'd done this. In fact, this was probably the hundredth time he'd snuck into her room.

Only…circumstances were different this time.

Muttering a curse under his breath, he strode quietly to the side of the bed, his eyes never leaving her face. He hadn't seen her this close in almost a year, and the sight of her brought back emotions he'd worked so hard to suppress while serving Magneto. They came rushing back with a vengeance, rekindling the fire within his seemingly stony heart. There was something about her that had always ignited the life inside him, and this time was no exception. Pleasant warmth spread throughout his body as he gazed down at the sleeping young woman before him.

Reaching out a tentative hand, he gently ran his fingers over the soft waves of her hair. The familiarity of it dispelled his anxiety and made him bolder, and soon his fingertips began to slowly make their way to her face. He never hesitated as he traced her jaw line, reveling in the foreign feel of her skin against his.

Closing his eyes, he fought the tidal wave of remorse that threatened to overcome him. Even as he touched her face in loving strokes, images of the burning clinic flashed through his mind. He had confronted her ice prick of a boyfriend, trying to get a rise out of him as they stood in the crowd of anti-cure protestors. His frustration, irritation, and anger at realizing that she was taking the cure all boiled down to his losing control.

He had snapped. It was too much to take, and he couldn't take anymore. Choosing Bobby over him…never seeing him as more than a _platonic _friend…taking the cure…and…

And…

He lifted his hand away from her as he saw himself send a blast of fire at the clinic. The building had exploded, and people promptly began panicking. He recalled his following horror at what he had done. Was she in there? Had she been hurt? Had he hurt her?

Again?

And then he'd fled, leaving Iceman fearfully fighting through the crowd to find her. He didn't want to know if she was all right or not. He didn't want to know if she was even alive. He didn't want to know that it was his entire fault if anything had happened to her. Like a coward, he'd run away. He was the pathetic one after all.

The small sound she made in her sleep snapped him out of his reverie and brought him back to the present. He watched her sadly, wishing so much that he could turn back time and do things over. He wanted to go back to that very first day in Ororo Munroe's class, where his first attempt to impress her had been squandered by that asswipe Iceman.

He glowered at the memory.

_Enough_, he thought to himself, focusing on the slumbering figure on the bed. He had been so relieved upon learning that she was all right, but that did not dispel his guilt at possibly endangering her life.

After a few more minutes he was considering simply turning on his heel and leaving, but a single word flowed from her lips and froze him on the spot.

"John…" she breathed softly, still asleep, his name sounding tender in her husky voice.

He shuddered slightly as the familiar melodic drawl sent tickles down his spine. It had been so long since anyone had called him by his birth name, and hearing it in her sweet voice sent his body temperature rising even higher.

So…she dreamed about him? A cocky grin spread across his face. _Wonder what kind of dream she's having?_

Her small whimper quickly replaced the grin with a frown. Her face had started to scrunch up in apparent distress and she was mumbling something else. Curious, he strained to listen.

"Don't leave me…please…"

His breath caught in his throat. That single phrase did it. Leaning over, he planted both palms on either side of her head on the pillow and brought his face an inch from hers. How could he have left her behind? How could he have been so blind with rage that he'd risked hurting or even killing her? His eyes scanned her face and for a moment he lost himself in the memories of them when they'd been friends. Her innocence and charming smiles had always been both endearing and alluring, especially whenever she teased and poked fun at him during the times they spent together. She had been the one thing that was right in his life…only now was he beginning to realize that.

He studied her lovely features once more before softly capturing her lips with his, sighing inwardly in content. He had missed this. A lot. How he lived without this for nearly a year he didn't know. All he was aware of at the moment was how soft and wonderful she felt, how sweet she tasted, and how his body was responding.

Her even breathing told him that she hadn't woken. Seeing this, he deepened the kiss, running his tongue over her lower lip and gently tangling his fingers in her hair. His heart began doing flips as the seconds passed and the absence of her mutation allowed him to continue touching her without fear of absorption. And touch her he did.

Maintaining the kiss, he ran one hand over the exposed parts of her body, lingering on her throat and shoulders. It traveled down her right arm as his lips moved south to her neck, where he left a trail of feathery kisses. She smelled faintly of warm vanilla and the scent, mingled with her own personal fragrance, nearly drove him to his knees.

_God…if only she knew what she does to me…_

He had to hold himself back from jumping into her bed when she shifted a bit and a little moan escaped her parted lips. He was breathing heavily by this time, and he knew he had to stop before he went too far. Even in sleep she was irresistible, and his body was telling him so as his hands ventured dangerously near forbidden waters of their own accord. He forced them back to their original position on the pillow and he gave himself some time to recover and slow his racing pulse.

Finally, he leaned in once more and brought his lips close to her ear, whispering, "I'll never leave you again."

As if those words had lifted a spell, her eyes slowly fluttered open. He raised his head to regard her calmly, remaining hovered over her. Now gaining consciousness, she stared up at him with wide doe eyes, the recognition gathering in their dark depths. Her lips moved a few times, but no sound came out.

Despite himself, he gave her a small grin. "Hey."

"John…?" she finally managed.

He nodded, starting to feel the strain in his muscles as he stayed in his current position. She solved his problem, however, by bringing up one hand and soundly slapping him across the face. The shock of the action rather than the pain propelled him back away from the bed and landed him on his rear.

"Ow!" he growled, rubbing his stinging cheek. "What the hell was that for?"

She sat up, her eyes now flashing angrily in the moonlight. There was also a bit of confusion mixed in there as well. "What are you doing here?" she demanded warily.

The question was open to interpretation. What was he doing back at the mansion? After the battle at Alcatraz, someone had apparently dragged his sorry ass back to Xavier's institute–against his will, might he add. What was he doing in her room in the middle of the night? Well, that one would be a little more difficult to explain…

"Hello to you, too," he ground out dryly, glaring at her from the floor. She was so much cuter when she was unconscious. "You're not one for saying 'welcome back,' are you?"

The dark look she shot him could have killed. "What are you doing here?" she repeated, this time sharply.

He rolled his eyes and picked himself up. There was something about her initial lack of enthusiasm at his return and her suspicious tone that annoyed the hell out of him. He was unable to stop himself as he snapped maliciously, "Well since you took the _cure_ and are now a touchable, worthless _human_, I thought I'd come in and see for myself if it was worth it."

Her wary expression changed to one of outrage and…sorrow? He mentally kicked himself as he saw the hurt spread over her pale face.

_Way to go, you ass_, he berated himself. _Two minutes into your first conversation after a year apart and you're already upsetting her._

He was contemplating how to apologize (without actually saying "sorry") and get himself in her good favor when a mask of emotionless indifference suddenly replaced her offended expression. Her eyes were narrowed and darker than ever.

"Spare me the lecture about my being a traitor to mutants," she said coldly. The iciness of her voice took him aback. "What I do is no concern of yours, _Pyro_. Your opinions mean nothing to me." The words were absolutely dripping with venom.

He was staring at her, not bothering to hide his surprise at this new hateful attitude. Huh. He had been so certain that she'd counter by throwing his betrayal of the X-Men back at his face. He didn't expect her to look at him as she did now, a quiet fury burning in her brown eyes. What was _she_ pissed off about? Other than him visiting her at this ungodly hour, that is? If anything, _he_ was the one to be rightfully angry at her for taking that damn "cure" in the first place and turning her back on her own kind.

So he retaliated in the only sensible way. He switched to asshole mode.

Crossing his arms and leaning against the wall next to her headboard, he sneered at her and ignored her stony gaze.

"Well someone's got their panties in a twist," he mocked in his infamous arrogant voice. "Let me guess…you took it, you regret it, and now you have to live with it. Am I right?"

He searched her face for any sign of emotion. To his disappointment, there was none.

"Drop dead," she hissed in the same tone.

"I would…"–_Almost did_, he thought in irritation as he recalled Iceman freezing his hands, head butting him, and leaving him for dead during that last battle–"…but I guess it's my invincibility that prevents me from doing so."

"Death would suit you."

"I'm sure, but it ain't happening any time soon." He studied her for a little longer and then decided to change tactics. He didn't like this side of her at all. The only logical explanation for it would be that something had happened during his absence, and he had a feeling that it had to do with more than her taking the cure.

His eyes roamed her body, settling on the cleavage that her nightgown so generously exposed to him. He smirked characteristically as her mask finally began to slip and she flushed when she realized the target of his leering.

"At least now Icedick can finally enjoy what he's been denied all this time," he said, a suggestive note lacing the sentence. "What with you no longer having poisonous skin and all, I'm sure he didn't hesitate to get into your pants once you came back–"

He had shifted his gaze to the other side of the room and quirked his eyebrow cockily in order to emphasize the pettiness of his words as he said all this. That was why he never saw the pillow flying at him. It hit him in the face with surprising force, almost knocking him backwards.

"You ignorant, perverted jerk!" she yelled, completely ignoring the fact that it was approximately three in the morning and there were other residents in the mansion sleeping. "You don't know _anything_."

He impatiently flung the offending bag of fluff away from him and strode the two steps forward to stand mere inches from her. "Just what the fuck is all this about, anyway?" he asked her heatedly, bending down so they were at eye level. No more games, he had to know what was wrong with her. "What the hell is with the attitude? I mean, yeah, a lot's happened and everything, I left the X-Men and became Magneto's subordinate, blah, blah, blah…but _shit_, why are you so goddamn angry?"

She had raised her hand to slap him again, but he caught her wrist this time and squeezed it painfully. She let out a sound of protest as he caught her other wrist as well.

"Answer me, Rogue," he ordered as she struggled against him. Her legs were no help to her as they were still tangled in her sheets. Even though, she was putting up a pretty good fight. She even managed to wrench one wrist free for a second until he caught it again.

"Rogue."

Abruptly, her body stilled, tensed. Her head was bent forward so that her long hair shielded her face from him. Still holding her wrists, he crouched down so that he could try to see her past the auburn and white tresses.

"…you," she mumbled from behind the hair.

"What?"

She lifted her head, the icy façade completely gone and her face transformed to an expression of complete melancholy and helplessness. Her gaze was softer now, so much more like the Rogue he remembered. The sadness in the gaze tugged at him, and he felt all annoyance and anger dissipate immediately.

"I can't hate you," she said in a small voice. The shine in her eyes foretold the coming of tears.

He felt some sort of protective instinct telling him to envelop the girl in an embrace, but he pushed back the impulse to listen to what she had to say. "Rogue…"

"Pyro." She took a deep breath and valiantly fought the tears that were beginning to gather. "Did you have to leave me?"

If it were possible, he could have sworn that he'd forgotten how to breathe. "What?" he choked, trying to remember how to bring air back into his lungs.

"You don't know how much I regretted letting you walk out of the jet at Alkali Lake," she told him quietly. "You don't know how worried I've been all this time, wondering if you were safe or if you were being treated well. Then, after the battle at Alcatraz, they told me that you'd been knocked out and your chances of surviving were rather slim…"

He swore softly, making a mental note to find out who "they" were and scorch them for causing her this distress. Something else was puzzling him, though. Why had she been so worried over his well-being? When he had been a student at the institute, she had never indicated that she thought of him as anything other than a friend. Not once.

"And now here you are, popping up from out of nowhere and acting like you weren't a casualty in that horrific war, being a total _jackass_ to me, after all the anxiety you put me through…" She trailed off and shook her head as if not quite believing the audacity he had to do such a thing.

He only gaped at her like she'd lost her mind. "Hey, you put _yourself_ through that anxiety. Anyway, why would _you_ care about me that much?"

"You were my friend, why wouldn't I care?" she returned.

The answer didn't satisfy him. He detected some unspoken element to that proclamation, but decided not to pursue it. He didn't dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, somewhere along the way of their entire relationship, she had upgraded him to more than simply a "friend" in her mind…

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

_A/N:_ The last part will be up soon, I just have to finish the last few pages. I've basically chopped this fanfic in two, so it will pick right up. Feel free to provide constructive criticism and/or comments.


	2. Part 2

_Part 2_

Instead of dwelling on farfetched possibilities, he opted for a graceful shifting of the subject. "So, I'm guessing your boyfriend was rather peeved with your incessant 'worrying' over me, huh?"

A fierce glower promptly marred her features and her lip almost curled back in a disgusted sneer that closely resembled those of John's.

_Well I'll be damned…if I didn't know any better, I'd say I was rubbing off on her,_ he mused.

"Oh no, not at all. In fact," she all but snarled, "during your absence my _wonderful boyfriend_ has been gallivanting off with a certain Kitty Pride,"–she spat the name like it was a sour taste in her mouth–"whom he just recently admitted he had feelings for."

His eyebrows shot up at the news. Well, this was certainly unexpected. Who would've thought that the straightedge, has-a-stick-up-his-ass, perfect boy scout Bobby Drake was a two-timing cheat?

"As if it weren't obvious already," she continued bitterly, sadness now overtaking the furious spark in her eyes. "All that time they spent together…I couldn't stand looking at them anymore. So I broke it off with him. Almost two years…down the drain…"

Ah. So she was a woman scorned. He was desperately attempting to fight the overwhelming rush of smugness and pure delight at the knowledge that Iceman was not all halos and wings after all. Not only that, it meant that there was no longer any nuisance such as a boyfriend standing in his way.

With great difficulty, he managed to look sympathetic. Somewhat.

Seemingly lost in her unpleasant thoughts, it was a few moments before she spoke again. "You must really hate me."

The statement caught him off guard. Talk about a total change in topic…her rant apparently wasn't chronological. "Huh?" he asked her intelligently.

"I know you're aware that I took the cure," she explained, not looking at him. "I know you ran into Bobby when he was looking for me that day. And I know that you destroyed the clinic, probably thinking I was in there."

_No! It's not…I wasn't trying to kill you! _his head screamed in horror. He released his hold on her wrists and ran a hand through his fading dyed blonde hair. Even though he wanted so much to tell her the contrary, that he had never hated her, he knew that it wasn't true. He _had_ hated her. She meant something to him, yes, but he had also hated her for it. He hated her for not wanting him. He hated her for making him care. And when she took the cure, he hated her for washing her hands of him. At least, that was how he'd felt.

But how could he tell her all that?

"Pyro…" she started when he remained silent.

He rubbed the back of his neck and held back a scowl. "Damn it, Rogue, call me John," he said edgily. It didn't feel right for her to call him by his "true" name. For some reason it sounded so much better when she addressed him by the name she always had in the past.

"Then call me Marie."

He glanced up in mild surprise at the request. Logan had been the only person he knew of who called her that, and that was because they were close…companions before they'd arrived at the institute. Even Iceman, during the time she'd dated him, had never been given the privilege to call her that. Granting John permission to call her by her real name made him feel…somewhat special.

"Marie," he tried, liking the way it rolled off his tongue. "…I don't expect you to understand."

He knew his error in choice of words the moment her jaw tightened and a rigid look passed over her face.

"I see," she bit out. That dangerous glint was reflecting off those brown orbs again. "So what is there to understand? Enlighten me, please." Her tone was hard. Not cold like earlier, but harsh nonetheless.

Now he did scowl, his temper rising in the way only she could make it. "What do you want me to say?" he snapped, hopping to his feet and whirling around so that his back was to her. How was it that they always pinballed back and forth between a civil conversation and a hostile quarrel? But this time there were pent up and undeclared emotions that accompanied the exchanged words. Both of them could sense it.

Addressing the wall, he said almost inaudibly, "I didn't blast that clinic with the intention of harming you. When I saw Drake again, I just…fucking lost it, okay?" His fist clenched tightly at the thought of the cheating prick. "But I absolutely _hate_ the fact that you went and turned yourself into a human, Marie. It was more than you being a traitor or whatever to our race. It was like…you wanted to forget about your life as a mutant and you didn't want to have anything to do with them anymore, including me."

_I felt like you were abandoning me._

He raised a hand to halt the words of protest he knew were about to spill from her mouth. "You were right when you said I hated you. But not in the way you think. It's…complicated." He chanced a glance over his shoulder to see her reaction.

She just sat there staring up at him grimly, the phrase echoing through her head. The impulse to reach out and hold her in his arms was more persistent, but he battled it.

"You never saw it, did you?" he asked her in an almost accusatory tenor. "You never realized the source of conflict between Drake and me. You never opened your eyes and–"

Her hand on his arm stopped him. "I had dreams about you," she blurted, her face flushing a second later when she considered the implication of the declaration. How inappropriate did _that_ sound?

However, he had no intention of making any smartass comments that would discontinue her elaboration. He only stared at her in silent interest.

Swallowing, she went on to say, "I've had them since…well, since I came here. Only, they didn't feel like dreams…more like…memories. And feelings." She scanned his face uneasily, her expressive eyes betraying the turmoil within.

His mouth was just about hanging open at the revelation. So she had them after all! All his hidden memories, secret feelings, silent wants and desires…

In a flash, he had turned and gripped her shoulders tightly with both hands. His glare bore into her as he disregarded her verbal objection to his touch.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" he demanded loudly.

"John, what's wrong with you–"

"Marie!"

"They were just dreams. What did you want me to do?" she asked him almost pleadingly.

"This!" he snarled, lifting one hand to cup the nape of her neck and draw her close.

His lips crashed onto hers and he kissed her like there was no tomorrow. She didn't move at first, her body stunned into immobility as his other hand snaked around her waist to hold her to him. The kiss was passionate and intense, hot and full of fire as every emotion he'd ever felt for her came down to this moment. They were all contradictory emotions. Respect and disdain. Adoration and detestation. Love and hate. It was enough to make one's head whirl, really. But one thing was clear: he had always wanted her for himself and now that he had her, there was no way in hell that he was going to let her go. He lowered her down on the bed, moving his lips from her mouth toward her throat.

Unfortunately for him, her palms came up and shoved at his chest, effectively putting some distance between their heated bodies, yet not strong enough to fully push him off. Her cheeks were flaming bright crimson, her eyes as wide as saucers and her heart racing. He felt one corner of his mouth lift upward in a smirk as he gazed down at her swollen red lips and flustered state.

There was truly nothing more gorgeous than her furiously blushing form lying beneath him.

"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly, completely baffled by his actions.

"What does it look like?" he murmured, lowering his head again toward her neck. She drew in a sharp breath as he brushed his lips fleetingly over her collarbone. "I was lying when I said I was in here only to test out the results of your so-called cure," he murmured, sliding one hand down her side as he rubbed his stubble on the sensitive skin of her shoulder. "The truth is I gave you those 'dreams.' They _were_ my memories and feelings, as you thought."

"John…" she whispered unevenly as her body betrayed her by reacting to his ministrations. "Don't…"

"I came to your room every night while you were asleep," he went on. The pounding of her heart reached his ears as he raked his chin downward toward her chest. "It was the only way for me to tell you how I felt."

"What did you…?"

He paused to look up at her earnestly.

"I kissed you. Every damn night since you moved into the institute. I came in and kissed you."

She looked utterly mortified and her fingers curled to grip the front of his shirt like talons. "You _what_? John, what were you thinking? I could've hurt you that way, why would you–"

He silenced her with another kiss. Determined to finish out this conversation, she pushed him back again.

"_John!_"

He let out an impatient sigh–more like a growl–and complied with her wish for him to behave. "I had no choice, all right? _I _saw you first. _I_ made the first move. But you chose to date Drake, so what was I supposed to do?"

"Uh, keep it to yourself?" she replied as if it were the most obvious course of action.

He snorted at the absurdity of the suggestion. "Who do you think I am?"

"But Bobby was your friend."

"That's where you're wrong. He was more of an acquaintance. I'm not buddy-buddy with girl-stealing popsicle dicks," he said scornfully. "Who, by the way, then proceed to drop said girl for another one."

She watched the way his face darkened at the mention of Bobby Drake and it finally dawned on her that the two young men were indeed never actually "friends." They had never been seen together unless she was there, they never held a conversation unless it had to do with her, and once she had chosen one of them, the other became resentful of the relationship. Why hadn't she seen it sooner?

Meanwhile, he had softened his tone to say, "You never did let on that you knew how I felt about you, or that you even suspected. So what else could I do but give you up and leave?"

She gawked at him in astonishment. Surely he didn't mean…

"John…I'm not the reason you joined the Brotherhood, am I?"

He could tell she was appalled by the prospect of being responsible for his untimely departure of the institute. As much as he wanted to alleviate her fears, he had to make her understand. Now, if ever.

"I ran off with Magneto because I looked up to him, and my ideals and beliefs were similar to his. But yes, you were part of the reason I left," he admitted. "If you really want to know, you were the only thing that would have kept me here, if only you weren't so freaking caught up in your goddamn fairytale world with Sir Freeze-a-lot…"–he pretended he didn't hear her indignant _hmph_–"…and actually given me the time of day."

Her silence seemed to stretch on for hours. They remained frozen in their positions with him on top of her, facing off in a mute battle of wits. Neither one broke eye contact as both inwardly reconsidered where they stood on the justification of their individual sides. He was aware that no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't really blame her for anything. Using her absorption powers to transfer his thoughts into her had never guaranteed that she would comprehend the meaning of them or that she would recognize them as anything more than dreams. His disappointment in her failure to do so was his own fault for assuming that her understanding of those "dreams" would come in a matter of time. In a nutshell, he had taken the craven way and informed her of his feelings in her sleep, even though he knew that it was only a shot, and then became huffy and frustrated when she didn't get the message.

Once again he was revealed to be the coward. It was a bitter realization that he still had some maturing to do, no matter how badass he believed he was.

And to add salt to the wound, she had ultimately come to the same conclusion.

"Let me get this straight. You mean to tell me that you blame me for not acting as your anchor to this school, all because I didn't _get it_ after you so _clearly_ told me how you really felt about me by sneaking into my room and kissing me in my _sleep_ each night, not even pausing to reflect on the possibility that I would have dismissed whatever thoughts you put into my head as a product of my subconscious imagination?" Her voice had taken on a dramatic crescendo and her face was turning an interesting shade of red, stemming from pure outrage. She shoved him off her and scooted a few feet away, bringing her knees up to her chest and pinning him with a glare.

He would be an idiot if he didn't know that he had dug himself into a hole. "Well shit, if you say it like that–"

"How else _can_ you say it?"

Throwing his hands up in frustration, he got to his feet and matched her glare. "Goddamn it, fine! It was the wrong course of action! I was wrong, okay? There, happy? Music to your ears," he said irritably, feeling the heavy blows to his pride. _Fuck if I know whether I'll ever live this down…_

At least that shut her up for a minute. This was turning into a complete mess. Any illusions he'd had of sweeping her off her feet were immediately sacked at that moment. Still frowning, she scanned his face. What she was searching for, he could only guess. But she apparently found whatever it was because the glare lessened in intensity and he could practically see a light bulb flash over her head.

"Why didn't you just come out and tell me?" she asked him sternly, sounding like a parent scolding a naughty child.

His left eye started to twitch. The dreaded question. He'd been hoping to avoid it. Like the plague.

Instead of answering, he turned his head away from her and set his lips in a grim line. There was a very specific reason why he never told her to her face. But he sure as hell wasn't going to relay that information to her.

Unfortunately, she figured it out all by herself.

In another grand display of a mood swing, her eyes widened and she exclaimed, "You were _shy_!" Her lovely Southern voice positively drawled out that last word.

He stopped himself from cringing. Well, there went his reputation. He could kiss his bad boy, lady-killer image good bye. John Allerdyce, Pyro, master manipulator of fire, hot-bod rebel, was the _shy_ type when it came to liking girls.

The notion of crawling under a rock and dying was suddenly a very appealing idea.

Thankfully, though, she was merciful. Edging back towards him, she timidly tugged on the hem of his shirt in an endearing gesture. "You should have been honest with me. It would have saved both of us a lot of trouble and heartache," she said softly.

The unsaid hint commanded his undivided attention. He felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach as he grasped the insinuation her words threw at him. His head immediately translated it:

_If you had just told me from the start instead of hiding it behind all your smartass remarks and actions, I wouldn't have given in to Bobby's advances and I might have been yours._

While ten seconds ago he was losing the will to live, his mood did a complete one-eighty as one last spark of hope flared up inside him. Reaching down to hold the hand that was tugging on his shirt, he braced himself for what he knew she was going to say next.

"You having to watch me with Bobby, me losing Bobby to _her_…it sucks to know that it could have all been avoided." She watched absently as his rough thumb began to stroke the skin of her hand, and she took a deep breath before closing her eyes and whispering, "I still love him."

He had been ready for that, and so chose to ignore it as he reached up to tuck a tendril of platinum hair behind her ear. "If you could do it all over, from the first day you came here, would you choose me?"

She bit her lip and looked away from him, a warm sensation once again flooding her cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself. How do you know I even feel that way about you?"

"Considering that you were mumbling my name in your sleep…"

"John," she said warningly, the warmth growing, "stop being such a–"

"So how _do_ you feel about me?"

It was a direct enough question, yet somehow she felt the need to beat around it.

Squirming a bit underneath his scrutiny, she frowned as she searched for the right words. "You've always been my friend, and even after you left I always thought of you as one–"

"I didn't ask what you thought of me," he interrupted, taking hold of her chin with his thumb and index finger and forcing her to face him. "I asked how you _felt_ about me."

And with that, his lips descended on hers again. He was pleased to find her returning the kiss this time, her eyes closing in transcendent bliss. His hands came up to cup her face as he deepened it, gently tugging her toward him so that they were both standing. The feel of her soft curves against his body was heaven, and he resisted the urge to succumb to his repressed animalistic lust and take her right there. She, on the other hand, had been making half-hearted efforts to escape from his arms, which had wrapped around her waist to lock her in a tight embrace.

"Can you honestly say you don't reciprocate my feelings…" he whispered against her lips, "…when I can make you tremble with just one touch?" He trailed one finger down the length of her spine to prove it, grinning when she gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders as she shuddered.

"John…" she said breathlessly, feeling her knees literally going weak. "Stop. I can't think."

"So don't."

He kissed her again and again, his kisses growing more insistent and greedy as she abandoned all attempts at resisting him. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she moaned shamelessly when his tongue sought access between her parted lips. Before she knew it, she was back on the bed, her nightgown having ridden up past her thighs and settling around her hips. It was fortunate that John, busy exploring every inch of her mouth, hadn't noticed or else he would have lost all control then and there.

His hands glided over her arms, shoulders, and neck, marveling at the previously forbidden silky skin. She in turn raked her nails down his back, drawing a low growl from his throat. He ground his mouth against her almost painfully as he felt himself going over the edge. Their hearts were pounding in sync, the heat emanating off their bodies as they sought each other in unspoken fervor and need.

With one last remnant of reason, she broke the kiss and gazed straight into his burning blue eyes. "Of course you realize I'm only functioning like this because I'm under your spell." There was a teasing quality to her assertion, something he didn't miss.

"So you say," he replied, kissing her almost sweetly on her temple. "You know you want my touch."

"And what is it that you want?"

"To make you mine."

There were no words or actions that could oppose that statement, and as he lowered his head toward her once more, she allowed him to claim her in sweet, sweet surrender.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

_A/N:_ Thank you very much to those who reviewed the first part; your comments are much appreciated. Do forgive the rough edges of this one…I'm a bit rusty at writing these things. Actually, to tell you the truth, this was the first heavy kissing scene I've written. Ever. My specialty is humor, but I thought I'd give romance a try. Please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading!


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